


Sleight of Hand

by traditionalfire



Series: Miraak/Arya the Dragonborn [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dovahzul, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traditionalfire/pseuds/traditionalfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Tumblr prompt from selkieblues: "When did they first tell each other that they loved them?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleight of Hand

Labyrinthian was by far the largest network of ruins Arya had ever seen. Six days had already passed, if she was figuring correctly, although it was hard to tell without daylight. Such a long journey in the cold, damp dark would not usually be what she’d call “enjoyable,” beyond the promise of treasure and an intense lesson on Skyrim’s history. This particular ruin, however, was unique, in that it offered an opportunity for a guided tour by one of its former residents. Miraak seemed to alternate between being flattered by her interest in his life before her race even existed, and wanting to throttle her for not shutting up.

Shortly after they entered the Tribune, she noticed that his answers to her inane questions were becoming more and more curt.

“What's your problem?” She could see him tense in her periphery, and the spectral draugr at the other end of his sword couldn't possibly be that unnerving. To be sure, she sent an arrow straight into its skull from her spot at the top of the stairs.

“Nothing,” he grunted, kicking the draugr off the blade before whirling to slice another in two.

“Please. That's not going to work on me.” The last draugr collapsed to the floor with an ebony arrow in its eye socket well before Miraak even noticed its approach. There was no denying that he was distracted.

He seemed to consider his next words very carefully as she hopped down the stairs.

“Our query is not far from here. Morokei. I knew him. He is exceptionally brutal, even for a servant of Alduin.” Miraak sent a ball of magelight down the corridor ahead. “Wait here. I will kill him myself.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. His gaze remained fixed down the narrow hallway even as she moved to stand within his field of vision. So he was indeed serious.

“No, you will not. We’re doing this together,” she stated flatly, heading down the hall ahead of him. “I usually find your protectiveness sweet, but...”

“You have no idea what he’s like, Arya. I know you’ve killed other Dragon Priests, but _he_ will not be so easily defeated,” he said, in the low, seductive tone that she’d come to recognize as his greatest weapon. To resort to such manipulative tactics so early on in an argument could only mean that he was truly concerned. She paused a few steps ahead, unsure how to feel.

“Do you really think I can’t fend for myself?” she asked, dismay leaking into her tone, without turning around. This pattern of implying that she was too weak to protect herself was getting quite old, no matter what the motivation behind it was.

“I would prefer not to find out.” Before she could even reply, she was pulled into a tight embrace against his chest, his breath tickling the nape of her neck.

“Don’t be si-”

“Gol Hah Dov,” he whispered, and she felt herself go limp in his arms, allowing him to easily seat her against the wall. “You will wait for me here. Defend yourself against any threats. I will be back for you.”

He didn’t look back as he continued quickly down the hall, pulling his hood up as he went.

Arya sat there, in silence, for several minutes before a nagging voice in her head became noticeable. _Fight_ , it said. _Don’t just sit there, fight!_ But what did that mean? There was nothing to fight, and Miraak would be back for her soon if she just waited.

Miraak. Son of a _bitch_.

That was all it took to shake his influence. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as the dusty, slippery floor would allow, and darted down the hall after him, bow in hand.

The echo of a Shout shook the ground beneath her, confirming that she was on the right track as she passed the ghostly forms of Savos Aren and his companions. They deserved more respect, but there just wasn’t time. Broken bits of Dovahzul were gradually becoming audible in the distance – “ _Gaas vax_!” in the grating voice she’d heard periodically throughout their journey, followed by incoherent yelling and a word she was pretty sure meant something so vulgar she was surprised to hear it come from Miraak’s mouth.

Suddenly she found herself bounding into a great hall. She slid to a halt near the entrance, scanning the room for threats beyond the Dragon Priest she expected. And then he noticed her.

“Ahrk wo los daar?” Morokei asked from across the room. Miraak was perhaps a dozen yards away, clutching a wound on his side and breathing hard behind his mask. “Hi drey ni fun zey hi drun zey ofanaat, Miraak.”

“Hi fund praag wah krii zey diist!” Electricity flickered over Miraak's fingers and into Morokei, forcing the Dragon Priest to cast a ward in his direction, but not before significant damage was done. Distracted as he was, he did not see the arrow that shattered his skull coming.

Miraak’s posture straightened as she approached, despite his wounds. In all likelihood, he expected a tirade. Or a punch. Maybe even something worse. Instead, Arya simply collected Morokei’s mask and staff, then headed for the exit, without so much as a glance in his direction.

They walked in silence, with Miraak lingering a few steps behind, until a Thalmor agent stepped into their path. Estormo, he said his name was. It didn’t matter. Arya continued walking, pausing only to dodge a clumsily targeted bolt of lightning and slash the Altmer’s throat. Miraak grabbed her arm before she could move on, pulling her around to face him and shoving her against the wall.

“We need to talk about this,” he said. “You’re angry and you have every right to be, but-”

“Angry?” She struggled against him, but he was taller, stronger, and he held her too close to allow her to gain any leverage. “Try livid! Shocked! _Violated_!” To her own surprise, no tears came with her outrage. They usually flowed so easily, but for once, she was beyond even weeping. “You took away any choice I had in the matter! How could you do that to _me_?”

“Because I care about you too much to lose you!” he shouted back. “Morokei was a monster, and I wasn’t about to risk the life of someone I love-”

He realized what he’d said the moment it slipped out, even before she did. Gradually his grip loosened, until she could feel the blood rushing into her arms again. Tentatively, she reached out to remove his mask.

“Did you seriously just admit that you love me?” she asked, eyes locked on his. There was fear there, she thought, or maybe just regret.

“Apparently so,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Oh, by the Divines,” she muttered, before grabbing his face and forcing him to look at her. “I love you too, you oaf. But if you _ever_ do that to me again, I swear to Hircine I will leave you.” And then she kissed him, pulling his head down as she stood on her toes to meet him halfway.

They paused to heal his wounds before continuing on, and the journey back to Winterhold was remarkable only in that it was the first of many lessons in Dovahzul to come. The first word Arya mastered was “lokaliin,” a word that Miraak heard over and over that very night. She pronounced it wrong, but it didn’t matter. It sounded perfect coming from her mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of Arya and Miraak's official "canon."
> 
> It may seem that Arya's anger is quickly dropped... But never forget that Miraak has maxed-out Speech skill. And this will come back to bite him in the ass eventually. (I.e. when I finish a half-done fic... Sigh.)
> 
> Dovahzul translations:  
> “Gaas vax!” = "Filthy traitor!"  
> “Ahrk wo los daar?” = "And who is this?"  
> “Hi drey ni fun zey hi drun zey ofanaat, Miraak.” = "You did not tell me you brought me a gift."  
> “Hi fund praag wah krii zey diist!” = "You'd have to kill me first!"  
> "Lokaliin" = "Lover"


End file.
